Seven Saviors of Cyrodiil
by shadowgeneral88
Summary: Chapter 6 up! As Gerich, the Hero of Kvatch, and his companions work to unravel the mysteries of the Mythic Dawn, we encounter our final two heroes. The Lord Crusader steps from obscurity into legend, as all hell breaks loose in Tamriel.
1. Chapter 1

The Elder Scrolls IV: OBLIVION

_**Hello everyone. I'm the Shadow General, and I'm presenting my take on what it would be like if each major quest line had its own hero, all running together into the world of the Elder Scrolls. Here you shall witness the unlikely alliances of assassins and saints, crusaders and thieves, mages and fighters. Heaven forbid we encounter any humorous, romantic, or tense situations throughout the story, huh? Keep in mind that I am a male, and therefore my only idea of romances is the stuff we all see in movies, so that may be what you see. There is nothing that should go beyond teen rating, however. Remember, this is one gigantic story, and all of these characters you will meet will team up to save the world! Sound like a team of superheroes yet? Well keep in mind, in Oblivion, you start from the ground and work your way up. Things won't be easy for our heroes, no matter how powerful they become. I now wish to present to you:**_

_Seven Saviors_

Chapter 1: The Archer and the Assassin

As Gerich Marillin stepped out of the sewer grate, he was forced to squint under the harsh glare of the midday sun. Being in the Imperial Prison had a nasty habit of making sun exposure painful after time was served. But the sun was the least of his problems, he realized, staring at the diamond shaped red gem amulet in his hand. He stared into its depths, swearing he could see swirling flames, like tongues, licking the casing they were inside in an attempt to break free. _And do what?_ He wondered. His life had suddenly taken a swerving turn, but in what direction, he couldn't tell. He decided to sit down on a nearby pier and stick his toes in the water and ponder the occurrences of the past hour and what they meant.

"Okay Gerich," he told himself shakily, "Let's go over the events and see where we are now:

One: I am thrown into prison just because I insult a passing noble's mother on a dare from my friend. Not good.

Two: I sit in prison for about 7 days, a week, before strange stuff starts happening.

Three: I am woken from a nap by raucous guards tramping down the stairs. I go to the barred door, only to be harassed by a strangely armored woman with a bad temperament.

Four: These four strangers are not guards, but three of the elite Blades, escorting the Emperor Himself!

Five: In such a state of shock as to the Emperor being in MY cell, I ask who he is, and get scoffs of disbelief from the mean Redguard and the nasty lady Blades, and an incredulous eyebrow-raise from the nicer Redguard named Baurus.

Six: I ask what I am doing in prison, stupidly enough. Was insulting a noble's mother enough to get a sentence of punishment from the Emperor Himself? No, nothing to fear. My prison cell has a secret passage out of it that the emperor needs to escape the assassins. Ohhh… And I was WORRIED… I much prefer assassins following the emperor coming after him through here than a sentence of punishment from the man himself.

Seven: After meticulously making my way through dungeons crawling with assassins in conjured armor and weapons that I can't take, I finally get weapons when the mean lady gets killed and I take her shortsword, katana, and torch. I feel so much better already. And after going through rat, goblin, and even ZOMBIE-infested dungeons, I get some substantial equipment and meet up with His Majesty, Baurus, and mean Glenroy again. I think the emperor personally held up in that one room to wait for me for some reason.

Eight: After a massive fight in the end, Glenroy dies, Baurus fights off scores of assassins, and a completely weary emperor plunges a national treasure into my hands, he gets killed, and I talk to Baurus about the next step."

Gerich had to laugh then, because when Baurus asked about his profession, he made a ridiculous guess:

"From what I've seen of you, you must be an experienced Bard," said Baurus confidently.

"WHAT? Are you LOONY? Do I look like I dance around inns singing and strumming a lute? I'm an ARCHER! The only thing I strum around here is my BOW!" Gerich exclaimed.

Baurus seemed unfazed by the enraged outburst.

"Really, I never would have guessed."

And he went on about how to leave the sewers.

After trekking through Divines-know-what in the water of the sewer and fighting mudcrabs, rats, and goblins, he finally emerged into the sunlight.

"Ugh, what a day," he groaned, falling onto his back and looking up. He was, needless to say, completely surprised by the fact that someone else was hanging upside-down by their knees from a lamppost above him, looking down and observing him. He was so startled by the appearance that he did nothing until after the other had spoken:

"You know, Imperial, they say that talking to yourself is one of the first symptoms of insanity," the other said.

The other being present was a young, pretty Wood Elf with a nice smile and green eyes. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face in the wind. She was clad in a one-piece suit of blackest leather, with a red handprint on one of the shoulders. A hood that matched the suit was tucked into the belt. She had a silver bow on her back, with a large amount of steel arrows. Gerich took this all in as he dove backward into a roll, and came up with his bow in his hand and an arrow strung and ready to fire, aiming at… where the wood elf was before. Gerich felt cold steel against his neck, and winced, realizing his folly and hoping the end to this strange day would come quick.

A soft whisper tickled the lobe of his ear, as the wood elf pressed tightly against him in the back, holding a wicked-looking ebony dagger to his neck.

"Judging from the way that you reacted, you're no ordinary civilian out with a bow they think they can use. If you mean me harm, you are in no position to cause me any trouble."

Gerich bumped her into the air by suddenly thrusting himself forward, grabbing and holding the hand with the dagger away from his neck. He brought the elven woman over his head and down onto the pier using the momentum, pulling his steel shortsword and placing it to her neck, as she placed the dagger to his. Both were panting heavily as they stared the other down.

"You play the dangerous game very well, Imperial," the wood elf finally said, her voice cracking with strain as she kept the sword away from her neck with one slender arm, "But if you don't mind letting me up, I have a contract I need to fulfill in the Waterfront. I swear I won't hurt you."

Gerich thought about it, and what did he have to lose? It wasn't like his life was really filled with purpose now since he didn't have the slightest idea what to do about his situation. He let her up, sheathing his sword and helping her to her feet. He picked up her bow and handed it to her, grabbing his as well.

"Thank you," she said, "You are a decent man. And don't worry about your situation too much, just rest and think on your situation. You will discover in your own time how to go about it. Good luck to you, Gerich Merillin."

Gerich didn't ask how she knew his name, his day was already filled with unnecessary surprises. As the wood elf turned to walk away toward the waterfront, he asked, "I notice you know my name, but may I ask for yours?"

She turned and flashed him a dazzling smile that made his heart thud painfully against his rib cage.

"Adanrael. Perhaps we will meet again, Gerich." She walked away, southwest toward the Waterfront District of Imperial City.

Somewhere deep inside, a part of Gerich couldn't wait until that next meeting.

Gerich sat on the porch in front of his "hole-in-the-wall" wood shack in the Waterfront District, reading his map of Cyrodiil and marking down locations he had found around the city, such as the Ayleid ruins of Vilverin, now a home to a band of bandits, and Sideways Cave, which seemed to be an Imp hive. He had just finished marking down a campsite near the city when he heard a commotion.

"Don't let her get away!" screamed a voice, sounding like a dark elf.

A twang of a bowstring, and then a sick thud as arrow met torso.

"She- She's gone, First Mate!"

"The captain! Check on the captain, you fools!"

Gerich was standing now, gripping the shortsword hilt at his side. He heard a rustling in the bushes beside his house, and saw a vague shimmer, as if there was some magical distortion. There was also a steadily growing red spot on the shimmer, surrounding a shaft of an iron arrow that glinted in the moonlight and lanternlight of his house. He saw the shimmer collapse to the wood floor of his porch with a dull _thud!_ He picked up the body, looking around for witnesses, and carried the body inside. Laying the figure on the bed, he felt around for the figure's arm, and felt a ring there. He pulled it off, and the shimmer effect disappeared, replaced by a figure with an arrow wound. He looked at the face, and saw that it was Adanrael. He swore softly, looking at the wound.

_It's good that she's unconscious;_ he thought as he grasped the arrow and pushed it through and out the other side. The elf moaned in pain in her unconscious stupor, and writhed. The arrow was out, but he wound needed to be cleaned and treated. The only way he could do that was…

…_To take off her armor,_ he thought to himself with a wince. He took a breath, and unfastened the suit, carefully sliding her out of it until she was in her undergarments and the wound was exposed. He took a rag out of the kettle he had had heating on the fire, wringing it out over the wound and then carefully cleaning it. She whimpered, and one hand snaked down to grasp his left hand tightly. He held it while he finished cleaning the wound, then wrapped her abdomen with a length of fabric he used for bandages. He slid down the covers of the bed and put her under them, covering her up. His treatment completed, he went and sat by the fire, mopping his brow.

Adanrael opened her eyes to see a thatched roof above her head, and felt the straw mattress beneath her and the woolen covers on top of her. She realized she was only clad in her undergarments, and opted not to jump out of the bed just yet. She turned her head, analyzing the space. She was in a hut about as big as a Market District sales counter, with ramshackle furnishings and no wealth. She looked by the fireplace and saw Gerich sitting in a rickety chair, mending a black leather suit. HER armor! She sat up slowly in the bed, abdomen aching, looking down to see her lower torso wrapped and bandaged. She moved to get out of the bed, and a book fell off the bed and hit the floor. She winced as Gerich quickly looked up. He smiled.

"Ah, you're awake," he said. "I wasn't about to let an assassin move around without an alarm of sorts so I put the book there. Simplest thing to do, really."

Adanrael smiled softly, realizing what must have happened. She remembered putting on her Shadowed Circlet, and becoming nothing more than a vague transparent disturbance in the air. She remembered staggering with an arrow shaft sticking into her. She remembered that she collapsed onto the stoop of someone's porch, feeling that that was the end. By merest chance, she must have stumbled onto Gerich's porch, and he had taken her in and healed her freely.

Her story was confirmed when he said, "Er, I hope you don't mind, but to properly clean and dress your wound, I had to, erm… remove your topclothes. I'm sorry."

She again smiled as she watched a blush creep up on his cheeks. And she wondered at the same time what made a man give his aid freely to such a dangerous wood elf. He risked what he thought to be death by tending her wounds and, _exposing_ her, yet he had not asked for anything in return.

Gerich spoke again, looking away as she got out of bed and came over, still in her undergarments.

"Uh, I made some Mudcrab chowder in this pot here, it is supposed to be good for you, and very tasty. Then when I've finished mending your armor, you can head back to your home base if you like. Just be careful with you wound, and change the dressing on it once a week until it heals."

Adanrael was confused. What motivated this man to be kind to a stranger like her, especially one as deadly as her? He wasn't even asking for anything in return! Did he by any chance, _like_ her? By Sithis, did this man _LOVE_ her?!? Following this thought, a strange emotion passed over her, an emotion that made her feel warm inside her cold assassin heart. She walked over to where he was sitting in his rickety chair, put her index and middle finger under his chin, and slowly lifted his gaze up to her face. They stayed that way for a moment, and then Adanrael leaned in toward him.

"Thank you," she murmered just before her lips met his.

_**I hope you all enjoyed this little chapter of my epic story. But know this, there is still more to come as all of our heroes meet one another. Right now you're thinking of the list of characters probably, and thinking: Well, what on earth is the next character after the main character and assassin? Tune in next time.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Seven Saviors of Cyrodiil**

_**Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter in this story. Now we go back to our newest pair as they discover what is next for them. We also may meet a new friend. Now that I sound like barney or teletubbies or something, I suddenly desire to go on with the story. Here we go!**_

**Chapter 2: The Northern Barbarian**

"So did you ever make your decision, Gerich? Have you decided what to do with your magic amulet yet?" Adanrael murmered.

They were sitting on the rickety chair in front of Gerich's fireplace. It was the month of Frost Fall, after all, and getting chillier. How were two people sitting in one chair, you might ask? Well, of course, in light of their newly discovered romance, Adanrael was sitting on Gerich's lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other hand holding Gerich's right hand. The fire was merrily crackling in the hearth, and all was quiet. The guards and pirates had stopped running around the waterfront searching for Adanrael now, but she was in no hurry to leave. Besides, the roads were crawling with creatures at night, and the safest place to be was here in the house of her beloved. Gerich stared into the fire, thinking about this task, one arm wrapped around Adanrael's waist, the other holding her hand as he thought.

"After thinking this matter over, I suspect that my task is divinely planned out, and that I should just accept this task. But I honestly don't think of myself to be the hero that Uriel Septim thought me to be. I'm a mere archer and former mercenary, not some courageous captain of soldiers with unlimited skill and superior power. I only survive, I don't rule or lord over anyone," he said to her. "I just don't think I'm the right man for the job."

Adanrael kissed him again. When they broke apart, she spoke:

"Gerich, even assassins of the Dark Brotherhood know that the Emperor was a great man. He knew things that others didn't, perhaps a gift of the Septim Bloodline and the dragon blood that runs in the veins of all of the Emperors. You must be the right man for the job if the Emperor himself picked you. Maybe you were in that cell for a specific reason," she surmised.

Gerich laughed. "Ha! Yes! For deeply insulting a hated noble's mother."

Adanrael giggled.

"I mean otherworldly reasons, Gerich! I honestly think you should do as the Emperor told you."

Gerich sighed. It wasn't like he had had a large to-do list after escaping prison with the help of the Emperor himself.

"All right, but what about you, Adanrael? I suppose you'll be leaving to get another contract," he said, sadly, fearing an imminent breakup.

"The only way I'm leaving," she whispered as she leaned her forehead against his, "Is if I leave with you."

----------

The next morning, Gerich cooked breakfast as Adanrael assembled her gear together on the bed. Adanrael made sure her gear was ready, and set out Gerich's gear on the table. They both ate Gerich's breakfast of fruits and venison.

"Everything's set, Gerich," Adanrael said matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure?" Gerich said with a laugh, pointing at her. "If you feel comfortable walking around the house in that state, I won't stop you. But I might have something to say if you go walking around town and countryside in your underclothes."

Adanrael punched him in the arm as he roared with laughter. "Pervert," she said teasingly.

A few hours later, they set out on the road to Weynon Priory. After they left the suburban town of Weye behind, they were walking down the road side-by-side, wary of enemies and creatures. Gerich looked over at Adanrael and smiled softly. She was walking, her bow in one hand, her other hand ready to pull an arrow. She was walking along, looking like she was thinking about the past. He took her hand gently, and she turned and smiled softly at him, broken out of her reverie. They walked hand in hand for a while, and chatted idly about the beauty of the forest around them. Then Gerich asked her about her past. She looked straight ahead, a stony look crossing her pretty features.

"I was born in Valenwood, and raised in the house of an elven noble. My mother died giving birth to my brother. My brother was the product of my mother's affair with a dark elf, and he was sent away into Cyrodiil to live in a foster home. I don't know what happened to him. I was home one night, alone, when I was summoned to the dining hall by my father. I went down, in my gown, and went into the hall. My father was sitting in his throne, and as I moved in, he snapped his fingers and twelve of his top men entered the room. He said that he was tired of my presence in his house, that I was a reminder of my mother's treachery to him. He told his men that they could… have their fun with me, and then they should kill me when they were done. He left the room, and they advanced. I was roughly grabbed, and stripped of my dress. I was about to be subjected to their evils when I saw a rare chance: One of the men had their silver short sword near my right hand. In a last moment of resistance, I grabbed it, ripped it out of the sheath, and skewered the men holding me to the table. Kicking their leader in the face, I ran for it. I jumped out a window and hid on the forest floor. Wild with rage, I returned to my father's house three days later. I waited for night to fall, and crept in. I killed four of the men as they slept, slitting their throats. I collected my clothes and belongings and went to my father's chambers. I entered, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireplace reading. I boldly stated my intentions to kill him and every man he had had ready to do unspeakable evils to me, and stated that four were already dead. I bade him to come, raise a weapon against me, call his friends. He called for his remaining men, and the six of the men not dead came charging into the room. I killed them all. One by one they fell fighting me, and my father cowered in his chair. I took a bow from one of them, and his arrows. I then coldly put an arrow through my father's neck. With his dying breath, he insulted my name. Later that night, I was woken by a man who initiated me into the Dark Brotherhood. Since then, I've killed a pirate. And then I met you."

Adanrael's expression suddenly became worried. Gerich wondered what was wrong. Then it clicked.

"Adanrael, you have nothing to fear. I won't betray you, ever," he said. She turned to him, unshed tears in her eyes. He continued, "I won't ever take advantage of you or use you. You are more important to me than all of Cyrodiil."

Her lower lip trembled. "You promise?" she asked him.

"I do," he said with a grin, and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with a passion.

--

They eventually made it to Weynon Priory, and went in. They were greeted by the shepherd Eronor, who told them to enter the chapel house. There they were intercepted by a monk named Prior Maborel, who inquired why they were there.

"We're here to see Jauffre," he told Maborel.

"Oh, he's upstairs, go ahead," the Prior said.

They went up the staircase to the right, and entered a small study. A doorway led to a room that Gerich presumed to be a bedroom. An older, balding, white-haired monk sat at the desk. (Author's Note: I know that we have seen this weary old monk sitting at this desk and heard this dialogue before, but bear with me, and I'll try to jazz it up a little, seeing as we'll have three people in the dialogue.)

The monk looked up as they approached, and put down a small metal clasp he had been tracing a pattern on with a quill. As the clasp rolled slightly on the hardwood desk, Gerich noticed the markings on it: a silver semicircle on a flat plain with lines arcing out like rays from it. At least, that's what he thought it looked like, although it could just be marred by the gigantic disfigurement on it from the blade of an Akaviri Katana…

"I'm Brother Jauffre, what do you want?" he asked curtly.

Unsure of what to say, Gerich plowed recklessly in and bluntly got to the point.

"I have brought you the Amulet of Kings," he said. Jauffre's eyes widened in shock for a moment, then suspiciously, he stared hard up at Gerich and Adanrael.

"You have the Amulet of Kings? Give it here," he ordered. He looked at it, tracing a finger over the patterns and the fiery gem, a suddenly lost look on his face. A tear fell from his eye and hit the stone, which briefly flared into a comfortable orange color.

"By the Gods, this is the Amulet of Kings! How did you get this?"

And so for the second time in a week, the young archer told his story again to the now-determined monk…

Later on, after having a cup of tea, Gerich sat thinking on the task given him by Jauffre:

"_You must go to Kvatch and find the priest named Martin in the Chapel of Akatosh. He is the lone heir to the throne, now that his father and brothers are all dead. Bring him here, so that we can plan what lays ahead for Tamriel."_

As he went down to join the monks for a simple meal of bread, fruit, and venison, he heard a female voice waft up the stairs.

"Been writing your mother again, I see, Piner. Just listen to me when I tell you that there's no dealing with paranoia of her kind. Just telling her to calm down in light of this assassination crisis isn't going to do anything. Just leave her alone, and when she figures out you aren't as bothered by it as she is, even if you are, she'll realize there's nothing to fear if her dearest monk son doesn't fear anything…"

Gerich recognized the accent of the northern people, the Nords. He walked down the stairs and down to the dinner table, where he sat next to Adanrael. She was giggling at the conversation between the flustered young monk and the Nordic woman who was looking over a crumpled paper that had been under her chair. Prior Maborel was chuckling into his venison, but Brother Jauffre was staring into his wine as he swished it around in the goblet, looking pensive. Brother Piner looked at him and spoke, relieved to change the topic.

"Ah, good friend Gerich, this, erm, _boisterous_ young woman is named Loryn Hall-Shamer. She meets her name perfectly, as well," he said in a hidden jab at Loryn.

"Funny, Brother Piner, perhaps you should take up the lute and entertain at inns across Cyrodiil rather than pray to Talos," Loryn said. She then looked at Gerich and gave him a once-over.

"Calloused fingers, especially apparent on the index finger and thumb, keen eye, strong arms, you must be an archer," she analyzed before taking a drink from her flagon. "And you, Bosmer… You have a keen eye, but rather than focus it on one target like an archer, you move between targets. You have a calculating look about you, and you sit in one corner where you can see all the entrances and exits, and analyze the full goings-on of the room you are in. Your fingers also flex frequently. I am guessing an assassin…"

"Wow," Gerich said to Adanrael, "She has us figured out!"

But at the word 'assassin' Jauffre shot up onto his feet, hurling his dinner knife at Adanrael, and in the same motion, twirling and drawing a massive katana. Adanrael reacted instantly, bringing her fist down onto the edge of her plate, sending the wooden plate spinning into the air, where it rotated and caught the blade dead-center. She drew her dagger and crouched on her chair. Gerich and Loryn rose, as the other two monks sat in shock.

"Brother Jauffre, what is the meaning of this assault?" Gerich demanded.

"I would hesitate to speak, archer, as your arrival with her puts you in a bad light as well. Who killed the Emperor, assassin? I want to know!"

Adanrael regarded him with a cool gaze. "The Dark Brotherhood had NO hand in the Emperor's murder. The Brotherhood doesn't sanction contracts involving political targets. The Emperor recognized the Dark Brotherhood as an organization that would serve to eliminate the greater evils of the empire, such as necromancers, pirates, bandits, and, ironically, cultists. The Dark Brotherhood would not accept a contract to kill the Emperor even if all of Tamriel were the prize, if all of Nirn were the prize. The organization that murdered the Emperor is definitely not associated with the Dark Brotherhood or the Morag Tong of Morrowind. This organization is therefore new."

The tensions eased as Jauffre apologized for his… 'snap judgment' and dinner ended with a conversation concerning the action plan for the next day.

"Gerich, you and Adanrael will need to head for Kvatch immediately tomorrow morning. You must find Martin the Priest, and bring him safely here. The enemy must not succeed in their plan, otherwise, all of Tamriel will be doomed. If Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric God of Oblivion is involved, the world will likely burn," Jauffre said grimly.

"I'd like to go with them, Jauffre, if you don't mind," Loryn said with interest.

"You, a Myrmidon in the Imperial City Arena, want to participate in saving the empire?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, if you reason it out, no Empire, no arena. I doubt Mehrunes Dagon would be interested in keeping the arena how it is. So that's my personal interest. But I also have nothing better to do, as challenges are slow of late. So I'll put my axes to use for them."

"Then it's settled, Jauffre, for with the three of them, what can possibly go wrong?" Prior Maborel said with a chuckle.

Little did they know that later that night, as they slept, the city of Kvatch would be the first to burn under the fires of Dagon's great Siege Crawler, and flow with the blood of the town as Daedra hacked, slashed, clawed, and ripped flesh with talon and weapon alike…

The next morning, as they prepared to set out, Prior Maborel took Gerich aside.

"Gerich, I want you to take my horse. She is unnamed, but she is one of the best bred paint horses in the entirety of Cyrodiil. She is fast, smart, and insightful. Of late, my duties have prevented me from taking her on journeys to other priories, but she should be perfectly happy to go with you."

"Well Prior, I have no idea what to say! Thank you for such a generous offer! I'll be sure to take very good care of her," Gerich said.

And with Adanrael and Loryn borrowing the other two horses in the Weynon Priory's stables, they set off for Kvatch. But just as they were riding down the southwest road, two men, one a Redguard, the other a Dunmer, were struggling up the hill from the woods south of the priory, in search of the healing powers of the monks there…

_Ha! A good cliffhanger, no? Have no fear, I am working on the next chapter as you read this one, most likely. The reason for delays to my writing is that I am now officially…. A COLLEGE STUDENT!!!! Which not only offers me freedom from a two hour computer limit at home, but it provides me with no specific writing curfew. Naturally, assignments may get in the way, but you can start expecting updates to this story, and my other story in the Fire Emblem section, the Escapades of Ewan, a bit more frequently. Enjoy until next time._

_-Shadowgeneral88_


	3. Chapter 3

**Seven Saviors: Chapter 3:**

**Mystics and Mages**

_Hey everyone, just wanted to apologize for lack of updates to well, everything. College is becoming taxing, but if I try working on my homework, I'll fall asleep on my dorm floor, again. My homework is trying to throw me into a vegetative state. I refuse to conform, and will finish it tomorrow before class. The luxuries of college, lol. Anyway, this chapter we will meet two more characters. We're getting this story on a roll, bringing our tally of characters to five. Mystic implies a sort of martial artist, but I digress… On with the chapter!_

Makar Al-Zhir checked his gear in the antechamber above the fort entrance, where he had found, to his disgust, bodies nailed to the wall, with organs and parts missing, and insides exposed. Fighting the spasms of his stomach, the Redguard realized he was going to encounter some form of undead, for only the soulless evil they represented could do this. After all, it wasn't like there were Daedra running rampant in Cyrodiil. (Author's Note: This, my friends, is called very ironically used foreshadowing). He checked his potions, tested his bowstring, and buckled his gauntlets. He checked his enchanted fire arrows, and strapped the quiver to his back. He then entered the abandoned imperial fort. He walked down the stairs, and put on a special enchanted hood, causing his vision to become blue-tinted and penetrating the darkness. He detected a slight disturbance in the air, slowly closing in on him on his right. In a fluid motion borne of hours practicing reactions, Makar spun, nocked an arrow to his bowstring, and let fly, slamming the hidden figure in the chest with such force that it slammed them into the wall. The figure was revealed as they slid down the wall and the illusion faded. Looking closely, he noticed the figure's pale skin, red eyes, and sharpened canines.

"Vampires," the Redguard monk mused aloud, "Could it possibly be so easy to get revenge?" He salvaged some vampire ashes from the slowly dissolving vampire, and moved on. He continued slaying vampires with his fire arrows, until he encountered a completely unexpected foe.

Makar entered the chamber, eyes roving the walls and balconies for danger. He suddenly took a hit to the back of his legs and then into the small of his back, sending him flying into the middle of the chamber, where he got to his feet with a grunt of pain. A Vampire was descending the stairs behind him, hissing as it stared hungrily at him. Realizing that he had dropped his bow by the door, Makar feigned weakness as the creature advanced, its hiss coupled with the scrape of a rusted iron dagger from a sheath.

"I will bleed you slowly, Redguard, and enjoy the taste of your still-warm blood and the dulcet tones of your screams of pain."

"I think not, foul creature," the monk said calmly, leaping up into the air, and bringing his foot down in a hatchet kick through the vampire's collarbone, effectively snapping it and crumpling the vampire. He stood over the vampire, and pressed his foot on the creature's chest. (A/N: I know, I know, you can't kick in oblivion without downloading some of the awesome mods out there, but monks should be able to, no?).

"I came home to my village in Hammerfell, creature, and what do I find? I find a pitiful creature like yourself, standing like I do now, foot pressed on my little sister's chest as a fellow of yours sucked her blood, my parents already dead in the corner. I killed the one draining her of her life and then broke every bone of the other's body. Your kind destroyed my family, killed them in disgrace. I bested them so easily, just as I have with you…"

And with that, Makar slammed his right hand in a spear-hand assault into the vampire's windpipe, crushing it and enjoying the red glow of the vampire's eyes fade. He heard sardonic clapping behind him, and a cold voice drawled to him.

"You are merciless in your hunt for vengeance, Redguard. Your anger and desire for retribution makes you powerful. Come, ease your pain. Join my clan, and become more powerful than you already are. The powers of the soulless children of Sithis would make you great," the voice said with passion.

"I think not, creature of the night. I came for vengeance, not recruitment offers. And as my obligation requires, I must slay you now," Makar replied, and spun, throwing a fist of infinite power at the vampire, who caught it in one hand, and applied pressure, causing Makar to sink to his knees. Makar slammed his head into the vampire's stomach, and spun around, hooking a kick. The vampire drew a silver dagger, and slashed Makar's leg as he passed. Grabbing the leg, the vampire spun and hurled Makar against a pillar. Makar crumpled, unable to stand as the ancient vampire slowly walked toward him, laughing evilly. Makar closed his eyes, wishing that he could have slain this foe for his family before dying, as the vampire raised a massive claymore above his head and prepared to slash down. Suddenly, a fireball slammed _through_ the vampire's chest and out the front, hitting the floor and disappearing near Makar's right hand. Three more fireballs slammed through, left, right, left, and then the vampire stood there, claymore dropped to the floor. The tip of a silver short-sword slammed through the vampire's neck and stuck out the front for a moment, and with a gurgle, the vampire slumped to the floor. A dark-skinned figure kneeled next to Makar, red eyes assessing the wounds. Makar stiffened, afraid that this was yet another vampire who wanted to kill him. But the eyes were different. Makar recognized his rescuer as a Dark Elf mage now.

"I presume this patriarch was kind enough to warmly welcome you to Fort Caratacas, Redguard?" the mage said, white teeth gleaming in the dark dungeon as he grinned.

"I definitely prefer the greetings of offended tavern girls to vampiric shows of affection," the beleaguered monk said dryly, watching as the mage pressed hands to his legs, sending warm waves of healing magic pulsing through his body.

"Well, my friend, we seem to be in a bad position currently, for you are too injured to walk, and I can't restore your marrow after turning that patriarch into vampiric powder and stopping the bleeding. Currently the followers of this patriarch are flocking together in a last ditch effort to assault us. I can carry you out of here, but I will need your bow to cover our backs, if you will," said the Dunmer, as he gathered his gear, and Makar's, passing him the bow.

"Sure, good mage, but how do you plan to carry me?" the amused and taller Redguard mystic said with a smirk. His question was answered when the mage cast a Feather spell on him, lightening his body weight, and flung him over his shoulder like a rucksack. They began their ascent, eyeing the shadows warily for movement. Suddenly with a hiss, they were surrounded. Makar decided to pull a few tricks out of his hat at last. He nocked three arrows to his bowstring, and angled each shot. He released his bow on the mage's command, just as the mage released a blaze of fire into the vampire blocking the stairs. Four vampires fell to the ground and disintegrated into ash as the pair made a break for it. Makar fired arrows into the dark behind them, occasionally seeing an arrow flare up as it hit on-target. They finally made their way out into the open air, and the mage started wearily trudging up the hill toward Weynon Priory, Makar walking alongside, one arm draped over his shoulders for support.

"I don't believe I ever got your name in that blasted fort, Master Mage," Makar politely inquired.

The mage laughed.

"I'm Ralas Moranu, Mages Guild Apprentice. I'm no Master Wizard yet, but I have rather high aspirations for the position," Ralas laughed. "And you are…?"

"I'm Makar Al-Zhir, a member of the Fighters' Guild, studying ancient mystic fighting techniques. I've already partially mastered some of the ancient Ayleid fighting techniques. Their bloodthirsty, cruel natures have given me something to go on, at least…" the monk said dryly. He noticed the mage looking forlornly back at the fort.

"What's wrong, mage? Did you drop something in there?"

The Dunmer shook his head.

"No, I'm thinking of the lost fortune in there… Those vampire ashes could have sold for a good price to some vampire hunters I know…"

"Well then, there's no rule that says we can't go back and get them tomorrow or the next day. And if more move in, then we can kill those too," Makar reasoned.

"We?" asked Ralas. "You want to team up with a mage? Most fighters scoff at magic users. Not to mention I have no idea how you want to split the take from this… venture."

Makar grinned.

"Simple enough, my friend. Since you are a mage, you take 75 percent of all gold we find or earn at the end of a day, and any mage equipment or staves we find. I get the remaining 25 percent of the gold, and full rights to all other loot of weapons, armor, and health potions. Odds are better for me finding all my equipment in loot than if you were to try, so more gold for you to purchase items with and enchant our gear."

Ralas raised an eyebrow at his new fighter friend hobbling next to him.

"This is well reasoned, and any good Telvanni descendent like myself would be a fool not to take up this reasonable offer. But have you planned partnering with a mage or something?"

"Friend Ralas, I'd be a fool to not try to plan for anything. I even write out some plans in a book I keep. We should go over them at some point. But for now, I couldn't help but grab these bottles of Shadowbanish wine. A toast to our new friendship and teamwork?"

Ralas raised the offered flagon towards Makar.

"I'll drink to that!" he proclaimed, and they both sat on the hill and enjoyed the looted vintage.

Ten minutes later, all three monks at the Weynon Priory House were startled from a modest supper when two battered, torn, and _very _drunk comrades stumbled in toasting the Ayleids, the dead Emperor, and Scamps. They were given beds and properly treated, as the monks wondered what else could possibly happen in this neck of the Colovian Highlands.

_Well, there you have it readers, sorry it took forever to post, but I have been busy of late. Expect more updates soon, since I have a tad more free time now. Ta Ta, and Happy New Year. Reviews are greatly __appreciated, and flamers are sent to Dive Rock to be summarily pushed off. Just kidding. Review away. And if you have time, go to Youtube and search _The Drunk Argonian _by _raditztheradish_. I've never seen such a funny Argonian in my lifetime. Later all._


	4. Chapter 4

Seven Saviors of Cyrodiil

_Hey everyone, welcome back to another hopefully enticing chapter in the series. I left my character list and story plan at my dorm at school, so I won't be back there for another week. Therefore, until then, most updates will build on the five characters we've already met. I also have a fondness for adding various mods into my Oblivon game on my pc just to spice it up a bit. I will usually cite the mod for those interested by giving you the name and stating that it isn't mine. I doubt I could mod any more than dying a pewter cup gold, lol, so I don't do mods, I just use them. So don't be surprised if stuff happens that can't really happen in the game in its normal version, it's just me adding a mod's story into the game. Onward, then…_

Chapter 4:

Something was wrong.

This is what Gerich knew by instinct after they passed through Skingrad and continued on toward Kvatch. There was a ionized tang in the air that made his arm hair stand on end. A palpable feeling of dread accompanied the eastward breezes that passed over the three adventurers. The three jumped when a massive amount of deer fled down the road toward them. Even normally hostile wild wolves that roamed the Colovian plains and highlands ignored the adventurers, fleeing with tails tucked between their legs. These were the first signs. The second sign that something was wrong was the fact that less than twelve villagers, coated in soot and wounds, waited grimly in a hastily assembled camp at the bottom of the road up to the city of Kvatch. As they approached, a panicky High Elf came sprinting up.

"C'mon! Run while there's still time!" he shouted hastily.

Gerich, Adanrael, and Loryn stood there and stared at the elf until Loryn broke the silence: "What happened?"

The high elf looked at her like she was a complete nutcase, then shook himself.

"Gods' Blood, you don't know, do you? DAEDRA overran Kvatch last night!"

"How did you escape?" Gerich asked, suddenly grim, drawing his bow and looking around warily.

"Something crawled over the walls and suddenly, everything was on fire. I followed the few guards that cut a path through the attackers out of the city. I ran into the woods and hid overnight. Captain Matius says they can hold them off…. No, NO! I DON'T BELIEVE HIM! IF YOU'D SEEN IT, YOU'D KNOW! I'm getting out of here before it's too late, you would be wise to do the same." And with that, the panicked elf sprinted off toward Anvil.

"At that speed, he'll make it to Anvil in five minutes," Loryn said, trying to ease the crushing fear of the coming storm.



They started up the hill, checking their weapons and gear as they went. They went past a priest, who was kneeling on the ground in defeat, crying out about the breaking of the Covenant and the Enemy being victorious, lamenting the abandonment of the Gods' protection. As they neared the top, the sky turned black and red, like blood and ink flowing together. The sun was completely drowned out. Stars cluttered the sky, but they seemed like distant candle lights, unable to pierce through the orange clouds and blood sky. Lightning flashed as they saw a massive fiery portal, expelling fireballs up into the air. Three haggard-looking guards stood behind a barricade of sharpened logs, two of the guards firing arrows at any daedra that emerged from the portal while the third directed their attention to the foes. As they approached, the third guard approached them, looking worn and furious at the same time.

"This is no place for civilians, get back to the encampment!" he snarled, more in exasperation at the situation rather than anger at them. Loryn bristled, ready to open up on the harassed guard, but Gerich broke in first.

"What happened?" he asked.

"We lost the damned city, THAT'S what happened!" the guard cried out in frustration. Gerich reached out and clasped the man's upper arm comfortingly.

"Please, sir, we've come to help," Gerich said, accompanied by the nods of Adanrael and Loryn.

"I'm Savlian Matius, captain of the Kvatch City Guard. Or what's left of it now. I sent men into that portal, seven of my best, and none have returned. What makes you think you can help?"

Gerich's reply was cut short when the high elf guard, Merandil by name, cried out in fear: "Daedroth!"

A massive beast lumbered out of the portal, shaking its head angrily and growling. It was a creature out of nightmares, a beast that walked upright like a sentient being, but was as massive as three Nordic warriors put together, with a crocodilian head. Adanrael leapt over the barricade, flipping a silver dagger out of her boot as she hurdled the barricade. Loryn drew her silver battleaxe and followed behind, as Gerich quickly drew the steel bow given to him by Jauffre, wishing he had a silver bow and silver arrows as he eyed the beast, trusting his friends to land the first blows. Adanrael leapt up into the air, clearing the daedroth's slicing claws and slashing a furrow down the beast's head between its eyes. As the creature roared in pain, Loryn ran up, doing a spinning jump to build momentum and slamming the axe deep into the belly of the beast, losing her grip on the weapon as it stuck fast in the creature's scales. She drew her steel war axe and chopped down on the tail of the creature. As the creature roared in pain, Gerich saw his opening and let fly, his arrow flying into the open mouth of the creature and punching out the back of its head, penetrating the creature's spinal cord and ending its life quickly. The creature slumped and Loryn went to retrieve her beloved axe, as Adanrael wiped her bloodied dagger off on the fur of a few scamps that had followed the daedroth out. Gerich lowered his bow to his side with a small puff of breath escaping him as he grinned at the captain.

"No worries, sir, I think we can handle it."



They entered the swirling portal hesitantly, and as Gerich passed through it, whispers started echoing in his head.

"_Close shut the jaws of Oblivion_" the voice of the Emperor ordered.

"Stranger, you chose a bad day to involve yourself with the Septims_" _said the voice of the assassin who had slain the emperor and then attacked him, only to be slain by Baurus.

Voices swirled in his head, and he closed his eyes, smelling nothing but smoke and fire. He opened up his eyes and immediately started praying to the Nine for forgiveness, for surely he had just died somehow and gone to hell. Lava spouted into the air and the landscape was all red and black. The portal teleported them to an island, but he would hardly call this island any sort of 'Paradise'. The island was surrounded by a sea of lava, which put an end to any ideas of a swim. He was snapped out of his dread-inspired daze by Adanrael, who held a hand to his cheek, gazing at him with concern. He shook himself, then covered her hand with his own, smiling down at her with a reassurance he wasn't sure he himself had. She gave him a quick hug, and then pulled out her ebony dagger, the Blade of Woe, as she noticed scamps closing in. Loryn pointed out that they weren't the only mortals on this nightmare plain when she shouted.

"Look, a guard of Kvatch!"

Gerich drew his bow and then began firing as quickly as he could, while Adanrael and Loryn slashed and chopped their way through the few scamps that were out here. Gerich saw the guard fighting a demonic-looking humanoid with a wicked-looking mace and a shield. The guard slashed with his steel longsword, was repelled, and blocked the mace with his own shield, angling it so that the mace didn't directly hit, but glanced off of the shield and slid past, reducing possible damage to it. Gerich aimed carefully, and let an arrow fly. It flew straight and true into the neck of the demon warrior, sliding between its massive helmet and its cuirass. The force of the arrow sent the demon into a short flight to the ground, where the guard stabbed down into its neck, finishing it if it wasn't already dead. The guard ran up to them.

"By the Nine, I didn't expect to see another friendly face! The others, they were… taken to the tower," the guard panted.

Gerich held up a hand to halt the guard.

"Calm down my friend, take a breath and explain."

The guard relaxed, lowering his sword and taking more even breaths.

"Captain Matius sent us in to see if we could close the gate! He figured there must be a way, since the other gates used in the attack were closed. We were ambushed as we attempted to cross that bridge. The doors closed shut on the first four men, and they were slaughtered by daedra that came In the opposite doors. Two more of my comrades attempted to flee, and were slain by fire from the scamps. They took our commander to the tower! I'm getting out of here!"



"Fine, Captain Matius needs your help outside the gate," Gerich said, pointing behind them to the fiery portal home. He longed to use that portal himself, but they had work to do.

"The Captain still holds the barricade? I will report to him immediately. Best of luck to you, friends!"

And with that, Ilend Vonius fled outside. The trio battled their way across the fiery island to the large Sigil Tower. During the peaceful moments, they would bond with each other in discussions about random things, keeping their spirits high in the fearsome dimension they found themselves in. At one point, Gerich was firing his arrows at the objects in the ground they had discovered were hovering landmines, while Loryn and Adanrael looked on and discussed things.

"So, 'Rael, does your organization really have no connection with who killed the Emperor? Does Sithis have any connection to Oblivion?" Loryn asked Adanrael as they watched mine after mine explode, one sending a scamp pinwheeling into the sky with a screech, flailing comically.

"I wouldn't know how to answer that, honestly, Loryn. In truth, I have no concept of what Sithis is. He's described as a void, but he's neither Daedra nor Aedra. He just sort of exists, apparently, and has great power. I keep thinking he's something like the King of Worms, perhaps? Or maybe even a self-created deity like the Tribunal in Morrowind? I have no idea. But I honestly don't follow into his cult with that Night Mother stuff much, either. I'm a follower of Dibella, in truth." Adanrael said, smiling as Gerich dove away from a mine with a yelp as it pinwheeled up, armed and ready to explode.

Loryn ducked as a fireball from the mine flew at her face, continuing the conversation.

"Oh, so you love to love, eh? Is that why you joined that following? The goddess of love is very popular with us young single ladies, eh?" She said with a smile and a wink.

"Honestly, I joined them to fill the void of a lack thereof," Adanrael replied sadly, "And since I joined, I've run headlong into the loving arms of a kind, caring man."

Loryn smiled at her.

"You've also found some friends now, too. Jauffre likes you, despite that little dinner misunderstanding. I think you're pretty swell, too. We should tag team in the Arena, sometime. Though I'll have to make you use a blunt weapon. I only beat my foe into unconsciousness."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Adanrael said, smiling and resting a hand on the shoulder of her newest friend. Looking at her lover as he returned and looking at her new, boisterous Nord companion, she felt a tingling warmth that felt wonderfully different from the fiery heat of their hellish surroundings. It gave her hope for their futures, and they moved forward across the island. They fought their way up to the third floor of the Sigil Keep, before they encountered a series of locked doors.

"Seriously? Honestly, who would bother locking a bunch of _organic_ doors?" Loryn said, annoyed at the idea. She moved to kick in the door, and it hardened to obsidian before their eyes right as her foot connected with it.



"YEOWCH!" Loryn hollered, as she hopped around on one foot and let loose a stream of obscenities that would make a mead hall leader blush. They proceeded across a bridge outside the only unlocked door to another tower. As they entered, they heard a yell.

"Over here! Quickly!"

They raced up the ramp around the center of the tower, and reached the top, where a fierce-looking dremora waited, a glittering obsidian sword in one hand, and a matching mace in the other. A man stood in a cage, looking the worse for wear.

"You should not be here, mortals…. Your blood… is FORFEIT! YOUR FLESH IS MINE!" the dremora screamed in awkward Cyrilic. He then bull-rushed Gerich and slammed him into a wall, turning around and swinging his mace at a truly angered Adanrael, and using his sword to redirect blows from Loryn. Gerich drew his steel shortsword and ended the dremora's amazing skill show by slitting his throat from behind. He shrugged at the other two as they stared on.

"Hey, even archers know how to get their hands dirty when things get up close and personal," he said, cleaning the sword on his leather jerkin. He then hefted the dremora longsword in one hand, feeling it's weight.

"Mind if I take this, ladies?" he asked his friends. They shook their heads. The man in the cage cleared his throat. Looking sheepish, Loryn walked over to talk to him.

"Quickly, you must take the keeper's key and get to the top of the Sigil Tower! Don't worry about me, go!" the man said hastily, then collapsed in a faint. Loryn bashed the cage open with the dremora mace and hefted the man over her shoulder easily. They crossed back to the sigil keep, and continued up the stairs, fighting the daedra that desperately tried to keep the warriors away from the sigil stone. They reached the top, and stood staring at their prize: the sigil stone flared in the bright beam of fiery light. Gerich reached out and took it, and the world _ended_… or so it seemed.

-+-

Meanwhile back at Weynon Priory, Makar and Ralas put together all of their gear, mending and repairing it with the help of Brother Piner and Eronor the shepherd. They were given the offer to return to Weynon Priory and stay there for a while if they so desired. They accepted, and then set out back down the hill to Fort Caratacas. As they entered, Makar and Ralas noticed one thing right away: the torches were all lit. Vampires wouldn't light this many torches to see in the dark, because they already had the Hunter's Sight. As they listened, they heard fighting deeper into the fort, along with random battlecries.

"For Lord Dagon!" came one female voice.

"I will drink you dry!" another voice hissed.



As the mage and monk descended down into the fort, scooping up piles of ash, both old and fresh, the fighting faded away and stopped, and it was quiet.

"Who do you think won?" Makar asked quietly, looking around with an arrow notched to his bowstring.

"I don't know, but if my hunch is correct, we don't want to meet anyone from either side," Ralas said, hands ready to throw a spell at anything that showed its face.

They walked down another set of stairs, but Makar tripped and fell down the stairs, his foot catching on something soft. He landed at the bottom, where he almost fell on a still-lit torch rolling along the ground. He let out a few strings of curses as Ralas chuckled.

"Hardly the mouth of a monk, my friend," he teased.

"I'm a monk studying arts of combat, I'm not obliged to keep clean language," Makar said, sitting up and grinning at his friend's joke.

Ralas sobered up as he looked at where Makar had tripped.

"Bring that torch up here, my friend," Ralas said quietly, "We may have more problems than we realize, and magical light is too bright."

Makar obliged and brought the torch up the stairs to where Ralas stood. Three bodies in red robes and hoods lay strewn down the stairs.

"Red robes, so they're not necromancers, or conjurers. Are they friends of yours?" Makar asked.

Ralas bent down and snatched a clasp from a robe on a dead man.

"No. In fact, they are exactly who I thought they were. They are the-"

Ralas was cut off as a Dark Elf in a red robe came striding up the stairs.

"Ah, Ralas, my friend, we seem to be making a habit of crossing paths while I am… working," the elf said as Ralas drew his sword and glared at him.

"You dastardly traitor, I'll kill you now!" Ralas shouted, and took a threatening step toward the red-clad elf.

"And as with every time we meet, you always have such hostile intentions," the elf said, snapping his fingers.

All around Ralas and Makar, showers of red and yellow sparks went up, and figures clad in summoned daedric light armor stepped out of the shadows, holding daedric weaponry. Makar aimed at each one individually, trying to calculate their odds .



"And I shouldn't go unintroduced to your friend here. I am Harrow, warden of the sanctuary of the Mythic Dawn. You don't know who we are, as our accomplishments haven't gone public yet. But you will soon learn to fear us, for we serve a great power that will bring you to your knees!"

Makar cut off any more of the rant.

"Look, that's nice and all, but Ralas, do you remember what happened to the town of Hackdirt?"

The soldiers around them looked at the monk curiously.

"Why, my friend, do you want to know?" Ralas asked knowingly.

"I don't know, just a little curious is all, said Makar, pulling out a handful of glass phials inside his robe but keeping them concealed.

"What are you doing?" Harrow cried out nervously.

"Why, my friend…. It BURNED TO THE GROUND!" Ralas shouted, and Makar smashed the phials all over the ground in front of them as Ralas let loose a stream of fire, lighting the spreading oil alight. As the cultists yelled and ran around in confusion, some on fire, some not, Ralas watched Harrow teleport away before turning and slaying the cultist in his way. Makar followed suit.

"You know, I just want ONE DAY when we can calmly stroll out of a dungeon. That would be very nice," Makar said to his friend with a grin. He then turned and shot two cultists following him up the stairs as Ralas fired a steady stream of lightning back down the stairs they had come from. The rest of the cultists pursued them up to the top, where Makar and Ralas hid to either side of the staircase. The cultists rushed past, and triggered a swinging mace trap Ralas had rigged just in case. They then mopped up the survivors and ran, hearing vampires scream in rage as they attempted to pursue the surviving prey. They heard the screams of the cultists left behind and shuddered, not wanting to share their fate. They then returned to the Priory.

Piner was sitting at a table, still writing to his mother, when they walked in, and looked up to welcome them back when he saw their faces.

"Trouble?" he asked them, concerned.

"Quite possibly, can you show us to Jauffre?"

Piner led them upstairs to Jauffre's study, where Ralas promptly dropped the clasp from the robed men on Jauffre's desk.

"Jauffre, we went back to Caratacas to recover the vampire ashes, and we discovered the presence of Daedric cultists in the catacombs. They were cleaning out the vampire presence. My hunch is that they were attempting to establish a base in striking distance of Chorrol," Ralas said, handing Jauffre the clasp. Jauffre immediately picked up the damaged clasp on his desk and held it next to the mostly undamaged 

clasp. They were one and the same, except for the massive damage dealt to the first clasp from the Blades under the Imperial City.

"By the Nine! Those assassins are trying to retake the-" he paused, looking at both Ralas and Makar.

"Forgive me, my friends, but I cannot tell you everything. Just suffice it to say that Chorrol is NOT their target. They intend to strike here, I am sure. But when, is unknown…"

Ralas and Makar exchanged looks. Had they just wandered into something huge?

_hey readers, I've decided that to better aid you in determining what section is about who, I'm going to start adding location notes before each section. This helps close out a section better, since doesn't show any of my other attempts at section separations. Also, I want to apologize for the long wait for my chapters… life gets busier than anyone expects. I hope most of my readers will return. Next chapter, I think I'll skip 'Breaking the Siege of Kvatch' next chapter, only to keep the flow going. For you fans of that particular quest, fear not. It will all eventually come through in flashbacks. See you next chapter… reviews please!_


	5. Chapter 5

Seven Saviors Chapter 5:

_Hey readers, it's me again. Just letting you know of a few changes I have in mind to make the story better. In case you're wondering about our other two mystery characters, I plan to bring them in after our current cast gets settled in at Cloud Ruler Temple. And this chapter, I am going to skip over the quest 'Breaking the Siege of Kvatch', just because I know it all too well, and I want to keep our heroes moving along. As for update speed, I'll do what I can. I apologize for the long waits. And now, whenever the party of heroes is separated, each section of the chapter devoted to them will say the names of the hero/heroes in the section, and a brief blurb of where they are. You'll see what I mean when I start… which is now. Thanks all!_

_**PS: DISCLAIMER! I take no credit for any spells appearing in my story from the Midas Magic mod available at . I just love the spells so much that I want to use them. I give all credit to…the proper creator/author of the mod, who I hope will forgive me until I can find his name again.**_

_10/10/08- Another update… I realized I'm an idiot. The abandoned fort that is closest to Hackdirt and Weynon Priory is called Fort Carmala. Fort Caractacus is a fort to the north of the Imperial City, important in the quest where everyone in the village of Aleswell is invisible…_

_11/22/08- Sorry, everyone. I'm taking forever to post, but I want to round off this chapter well enough to bring in the last two characters. Enjoy!_

**Temple in the Clouds**

**Gerich, Adanrael, Loryn**

**Gold Road, somewhere between Kvatch and Skingrad**

Gerich walked in the front of the group, bow at the ready, eyes wary of danger, bloodshot from lack of sleep. Adanrael snuck along in the treelines, keeping up with the group and brutally assassinating any bandits encamped along the road, and looting them of any valuable or useful goods. Loryn brought up the rear, axe ready to smash in the head of any foes foolish enough to show themselves to her. Why were they so tense and on guard for enemies? Accompanying them was the currently-quiet priest they had gone to retrieve from Kvatch in the first place, who was, in reality, the illegitimate son of the late Uriel Septim IV. Martin Septim walked along quietly, not because he didn't like his travel companions. He actually liked them quite a lot. Gerich, the archer who was being hailed as the Hero of Kvatch, was a kind man who was fulfilling the duty thrust upon him by the late emperor. He walked down the road, wearing the cuirass of Watch Captain Savlian Matius, who had grown tired of fighting. He also carried a light shield with the emblem of Kvatch, given as a gift by Ilend Vonius.

"You saved my life. You brought be back from hell! I'll never forget it," he said in thanks, handing Gerich the shield and a silver longsword he had retrieved from the ravaged armory.

Martin also liked the female assassin Adanrael. He grew nervous at learning her occupation and affiliation, but relaxed when he realized her devotion to the Lady Dibella. He observed her affection for Gerich when they stopped to camp for the night. She and Gerich would unpack food and supplies as Loryn would dispose of the bodies of the bandits they had taken the campsite from. Gerich would sit there, staring at the fire as though he saw an old friend in a different light: as a possible threat. Adanrael would go over, sit cross-legged in front of him, take his hands, and just stare into his eyes, whispering soothing words.

As for the Nord arena combatant, Martin enjoyed her company greatly. She kept a very close watch on him, always sleeping the closest to where he slept, axe ready to send some heads rolling if they dared attack him. During the walks, she would chat with him aimlessly, asking if he knew anything about the arena, and saw any fights. She would gladly tell him tales of her exploits in the arena, and how she bludgeoned all challengers into unconsciousness. When they would stop to eat or rest, and before turning in for the night, she would craft some acceptable mockeries of real weapons, and would spar with Martin, insisting that it was important he learn how to capably defend himself. After a few days of travel, she sat with Martin near the fire and pulled out an assortment of weapons from the combined kits of their little party. She spread them out in a straight line in front of Martin, the weapons moving from small to large. She pointed to them down the line, Martin paying rapt attention.

"Now, we'll start small and move up. This," she said, picking up and holding Adanrael's silver dagger, "is obviously a dagger. What's special about it is the fact that it's a silver dagger. One major fact to remember is that in a pinch where you are stuck in a dungeon ridden with undead and spirits, you can't go wrong with silver weaponry. The material acts out against the spiritual and mythical creatures of the world with great effect. The dagger itself is a very short-bladed weapon, better if you use a shield with it, to make up for its lack of defense."

Martin studied each weapon she picked up and handed to him carefully, even standing up at times to throw a few practice swings and strikes at a dead sapling nearby. He went on to be educated in how the mace was handy for pulverizing bone, breaking shields, and bashing in plate armor, how the longsword and claymore gave a nice long reach preferred by blademasters, and how the war and battle axes were able to cleave through the finest armor when used properly. Gerich and Adanrael watched on as well, impressed by Loryn's vast knowledge of weapons, borne of her career in the arena.

The journey continued on to Weynon Priory, and to save time, they eventually cut through the wilderness to the southern entrance of Chorrol, being very sure to circumvent the demented, partially decimated village of Hackdirt. They reached the southern entrance to Chorrol, entering the town to relax and refresh for a few hours before presenting the heir-apparent to Jauffre. They neatened themselves up at the local tavern, even sinking so low as to freshen up at the Grey Mare and avoid undue attention to Martin. Gerich and Martin waited in the lobby, Gerich dressed in black leather boots, black wide pants, and a blue silk shirt, and Martin changed into a fresh light blue robes with a shield enchantment. They sat at a table in the corner, backs to the wall, weapons at hand in case danger appeared. While they waited for the girls to finish washing up, they studied the sigil stone Gerich had still been holding onto as they teleported to the ground just outside the ruined Oblivion Gate. It glowed softly, not attracting attention in the light of the fire in the fireplace.

"So this is a Sigil Stone," Martin mused aloud. They weren't too worried about being heard, because a couple of Orcs were over at the bar arguing about some Orcish quality or another.

"Indeed, but what does it do?" Gerich said, "It seems to be magically charged, which would make sense. And yet… We should consult a trustworthy mage on this at some point. But for now, it should probably remain a mystery."

"Agreed," Martin said, then looked up and nodded acknowledgement at the two lovely females that entered the room. Adanrael and Loryn had been sure to dress well, Loryn in a white blouse and burgundy skirt, and Adanrael in a green dress, adding to her Elven features. Adanrael walked up and kissed Gerich on the cheek.

"Well don't you look handsome," she said to him, grinning prettily. Loryn smirked as she rolled her eyes, settling into a chair next to Martin with a tankard of mead. When they all had settled in, she raised her glass in a toast to their table.

"To Martin. May we never have to rescue him again," She said with a smirk in his direction.

"I'll drink to that!" Martin said, and they all laughed. They had their drinks and set out for the southern gate to leave for the Priory. As they left, Martin had a sudden bad feeling and put on the Kvatch cuirass, having had it cleaned and repaired by the local smith of Chorrol.

**Weynon Priory: Ralas and Makar**

Ralas and Makar were in the back gardens behind the sheepfold, helping Brother Piner to pull weeds. Prior Maborel was busy scrubbing the brass plaque next to the door of the Priory House. All of a sudden, they heard the Prior speak to someone. Makar whispered a life detect spell and studied the situation. A group of men in robes was gathered around Maborel. He smacked Ralas in the shoulder to get his attention and pointed, casting a detect life spell on Ralas. Ralas saw and noted, and stood up, rolling back his sleeves. Makar cursed his idiocy for leaving his weapons inside the priory, before looking at his fists and grinning. He armed the deadly Dispel/Silence spell that Ralas had taught him earlier, and summoned the magic to his fists. Brother Piner noticed their movements and reached under his robes, a fierce look replacing the confused expression. Then the voices reached their ears.

"No, old religious fool, we are not pilgrims. We are here on a little matter of finding the Amulet of Kings for our Master," a voice said.

Prior Maborel stiffened noticeably, and Ralas sighed softly.

"I don't know what you speak of, sir. The Amulet of Kings is most presumably in the care of the Elder Council!" Prior Maborel stated defiantly.

The leader of the group confronting Maborel sighed in mock resignment, and the rest of the group chuckled in an unfriendly manner.

"What a pity. If you will not help us, then we will just have to find it ourselves, and then burn this defilement against Dagon to the ground!"

With that, the leader drew a dagger and stabbed Prior Maborel in the chest. The Prior stood for a moment, and then shouted, "ATTACK! ATTACK ON THE PRIORY!"

The leader withdrew his dagger and smashed a gauntleted hand into the Prior's face, silencing him forever. Piner knelt to the ground and prayed for his deliverance, before standing and drawing a magnificent katana from under his robe. They heard a scream, and then Eronor the shepherd dashed out of the sheepfold, running for the city of Chorrol as fast as he could.

"YOU! AFTER HIM! We can't let anyone know we are here! You three, follow me into the Chapel. The rest of you, ransack the Priory house. Kill anyone you find!"

The leader then turned and ran into the Chapel, and three figures followed, all four summoning armor.

"Cultists! They ARE attacking! We must stop their desecration!" Piner declared, charging toward the corner of the building. As he reached it, three cultists rounded the bend, weapons ready.

"For Lord Dag-" cried a cultist, before being cut off as a massive beam of red fire smashed into her, sending her crashing into the wall of the sheepfold and crumpling to the ground, magic armor dispelled and clothes smoking. Makar looked at Ralas, the Telvanni Dark Elf grinning as his palm smoked from unleashing the magical beam. Makar then followed Piner as Piner rushed a female cultist with a mace. The cultist facing Makar swung a mace that Makar stopped by grabbing the cultist's wrist and kicking his elbow, snapping the arm the wrong way. As the cultist screamed, Makar brought a fist hard into their facemask, dispelling the armor and silencing the cultist, preventing further magic spellcasting. The cultist fell back, spitting out blood and teeth, and then died as Makar brought a foot down on his neck. Piner smashed at the mace-wielding cultist in a fury, then smashed the mace out of the way, spun, and impaled the cultist between the armor plates covering the chest and face. The cultist's armor dissolved and she fell with a gurgle. The three rushed around the corner and were engaged by a larger group of cultists. Makar picked up two cultists with telekinesis and smashed them together on a third, crumpling him to the ground and killing two of them. Makar ran up and kicked a cultist in the crotch, and then smashed a palm into the cultist's nose as the armor distintegrated away, slamming it into his brain and killing him instantly. Piner engaged more cultists with fluid swordplay, dancing and dodging around the clumsy swinging maces. As Makar looked up to check on the position of his friends, he noticed a cultist sneaking up on Ralas as he continued obliterating enemy ranks with telekinetic assaults, grinning wickedly the entire time. Makar tried to shout a warning and reach his friend, but cultists kept getting in his way. He smashed them aside aggressively, and watched in horror as the cultist raised a mace. Suddenly, an arrow soared from out of nowhere and caught the cultist in the throat, the armor and mace disintegrating away as the cultist died. He looked to the road, and saw four people running to help, two men and two women. The archer who had rescued Ralas was already drawing and nocking a second arrow, taking aim and killing a cultist attacking Piner. The archer was wearing a Kvatch guard cuirass, a round shield strapped to his back and a strange-looking obsidian sword sheathed at his hip. The man behind him holding a silver shortsword and hurling frost spells at the cultists was wearing a priest's robe and had shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes. After Makar was interrupted in his assessment of their reinforcements, he smashed the responsible cultists with quick kicks and punches, and resumed looking at their reinforcements. A Nord woman came charging down the road, smashing cultists left and right with her axe. The last woman was there, running down the road with a glittering silver dagger drawn, and then she wasn't. His fading life detect spell saw her purple essence slide between the cultists that had been rushing her, chameleoned. The spell faded, and then he saw the cultists collapsing to the ground, tendons sliced and throats slit. She reappeared next to the archer, and with a nod from the archer to Makar, both stormed into the Chapel building. Between the raging Nord woman, the powerful Telvanni, the katana-wielding monk, and Makar, the remaining cultists were slain. Red-clad bodies littered the outside of the Priory, and the Nord woman charged into the Priory House, calling out, "C'mon, Piner, I saw some of the bastards run in here!" Piner stood from where he had been stooped, panting, and followed her in, katana ready at hand. The priest with the blue eyes and silver shortsword ran into the Chapel. A minute later, a couple more cultists came up the road, and Makar and Ralas killed them with a vengeance. A few minutes after that, Brother Jauffre came dashing out of the Chapel, holding a dai-katana, followed by the archer, the assassin, and the priest close behind. They dashed into the Priory house as Jauffre shouted.

"I fear the Enemy came here for the Amulet of…" Jauffre shouted back to the archer and assassin, and was cut off from Makar's hearing by the shutting of the door behind them.

Ralas beckoned to Makar to follow him in. Inside the house, they found a couple more dead cultists, as the Nord woman and Piner sat tiredly in chairs at the table. Makar and Ralas walked over and joined them, receiving nods from the other two.

"Nice fighting, monk," the Nord woman said to Makar, "The dispel charm on touch compounded with your fists of fury was quite clever."

Makar grinned.

"Thanks, but I can't take all of the credit. Ralas here gave me the idea. I am Makar. And you are-"

Ralas stepped forward warmly offering a hand to the woman.

"Ms. Loryn Hall-Shamer, the Tamriel Terror, I presume?" Ralas said, shaking her hand with a grin.

"Oh, wonderful, a fan! Tell me, how rich did I make you in the Arena?" The woman replied with a chuckle and a grin.

"We'll just say you helped me take away a lot of funding from my colleague's experiments and funnel it into my coffers every Sundas, O Great Terror," Ralas commented with a grin.

Makar and Piner chuckled, enjoying the break from the tension that had been thrust on the Priory.

"They've taken it, the Amulet is gone! The enemy has beaten us at every turn!" cried Jauffre, coming down the stairs and coming face-to-face with the priest, and staring with recognition.

The archer following Jauffre down the stairs swept an arm at the priest in indication.

"Not entirely, we managed to rescue the heir." The man said, sounding tired.

Jauffre bowed to the priest, saying "So Martin, you are safe. There is hope yet."

"We must keep him safe from the Enemy, stall for time while we reorganize," the archer said.

"We will go to Cloud Ruler Temple, in the mountains north of Bruma. A few men could hold it against an army."

Jauffre eyed Makar and Ralas.

"You two should come along. Your defense of the Priory will have earned you the wrath of our enemies. But you have also earned my highest trust. I ask your help to defend the last remaining Heir while we come up with a plan to end the Oblivion crisis," the wizened Grandmaster said.

"Great!" said Ralas, "Where to?"

**Four Hours Later**

**Orange Road between Chorrol and Bruma**

The party taking Martin north to Cloud Ruler Temple had stopped to rest for a few hours on a bluff that provided a view through the otherwise dominating forest tree line, looking down on the wheel-spoke shape of the Imperial City. Martin leaned on the wooden fence by the edge of the precipice, staring down at White-Gold Tower. Loryn was leaning against the fence next to him, looking in the same direction.

"It's funny," said Martin slowly, causing Loryn to turn and look, "It's funny to stand here and look down at that tower, and know it to be my final destination. And yet, we are heading the opposite direction."

Loryn snorted.

"Jauffre explained it to me earlier, because I asked why we didn't just take you to the Elder Council for their help. He said that without the Amulet of Kings around your neck to provide proof of your claim, you'll be seen as a sort of power-hungry usurper or something like that," She said, patting him on the shoulder affectionately.

"And I suppose that if Jauffre went into the palace to vouch for me, the Elder Council would deem him to be far too senile to hold his position, and that would make things far more inconvenient," Martin said with a shake of his head.

"The Blades may be separate from the government," Jauffre said, coming over to where they stood, "But the Elder Council doesn't need to take an interest in Blade affairs now that Emperor Uriel is dead. Are you ready to eat, Majesty? Gerich has brought in a few deer he and Makar took down in the forest. I must say, having two marksmen on hand is quite comforting."

Makar came up, arms wrapped around a nauseous-looking Gerich and Ralas, who wore an expression that mingled together shame, disgust, and great amusement.

"Aye, and Ralas tried to help us, but his attempt is still burning a scorch mark onto a boulder in the forest," Makar said, laughing.

Adanrael came up next, having started a cooking fire.

"The cookfire is ready, everyone," She said with a grin at the three hunters, or the two hunters and one would-be hunter.

Jauffre couldn't help but feel comforted by the presence of this fast-connecting group. Their teamwork would prove to be a comfort and an essential asset in the coming days.

"My thanks to you all," said Jauffre with a soft smile, "But we should perhaps dine, and then press on. I do not doubt our formidable skill, but I fear the power the Enemy may array against us to prevent Martin from reaching safety."

The group, still jovial despite this thought, gathered around the fire and ate, then collected their things and pressed on.

**Mountain Road to Cloud Ruler Temple, North of Bruma**

The snow came down gently, almost like a gentle welcome to the northern lands to the party coming up the road to Cloud Ruler Temple.

As they approached the doors, Jauffre took the lead, followed closely by Martin. The rest of the group formed up, bringing the few horses they had. A Blade in full Akaviri armor came sprinting through the gigantic double doors as they swung open.

"Grandmaster! Is this…?" The Blade stammered, staring at Martin with confused recognition.

"Yes, Cyrus, this is Martin Septim," Jauffre answered.

"Surprise!" Loryn muttered, and Ralas chuckled until Makar elbowed him in the ribs.

Cyrus eyed the trio, but then stepped up to Martin and spoke:

"My Lord! Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honor of the Emperor's visit in many a year."

"Well, thank you," said Martin, thrown off by the Blades' quick acceptance, "The honor is mine."

"Come," said Jauffre, the tension easing, "Your Blades are waiting to greet you."

The group walked up the stairs to a ceremonial-style double-line formation of Blades, holding their katanas crossed in the air above them as Martin and Jauffre passed under them. The rest of the group stopped and held their position at the end of the formation. Gerich drew his sword out and knelt, facing Martin. The rest followed suit, kneeling with whatever they had at hand. Jauffre made a motivational speech to the Blades, speaking of the 'Dark Times' that had fallen onto Tamriel with the death of Emperor Uriel and the loss of the Amulet. But he spoke also of the rescue of Martin, and asked if he would say a few words. To resounding encouragement and cheers from the Blades, he nervously stepped up.

"Jauffre…Everyone… Thank you for your warm welcome here. This is all new to me. I appreciate your loyalty, and I hope to prove worthy of it in the coming days. Thank you."

"Well, thank you, Martin," said Jauffre somberly, "We'd best all get back to our duties, eh, Captain?"

The Blades dismissed, scattering to their positions and tasks around the temple. Martin walked up to his five companions.

"Not much of a speech, was it?" He asked.

Gerich clapped him on the shoulder.

"It was good for a start and introduction," he said.

Martin nodded.

"It didn't seem to hurt. But the Blades, saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim! Forgive me, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I know what you all went through to get me here."

Loryn clasped his arm with her hand comfortingly.

"We know," she said with a soft smile.

Martin went down the line and gripped all of their arms warmly, smiling gratefully to each of them.

"I know I can rely on you all for strength in the coming days. We must make plans immediately to regain lost ground against the Enemy."

He amended himself as he saw Adanrael sway tiredly against Gerich, and saw how haggard his friends were.

"But first you must rest. We all must rest."

Jauffre came up then, accompanied by Captain Steffan of the Blades, as well as a young Breton Blade named Jena. Jauffre carried one elongated cloth-wrapped bundle with two hands, while the other two Blades carried two bundles apiece.

"As you have risked your lives at the expense of saving the last remaining heir to the throne, I wish to honorably induct you into the Order of the Blades," he said to them, a proud smile on his wizened face.

They unwrapped the bundles, and five shining Akaviri Katanas were revealed to the group. They all reached out and accepted the gifts with bows to Jauffre and the Blades. They went and rested up in the Blades quarters.

The next morning, the group met near the fireplace in the Main Hall with Jauffre and Martin. Captain Steffan was also nearby. Jauffre and Martin were figuring out a plan to get back on their feet.

"Someone must go to the Imperial City and meet up with Baurus. He magically relayed us a message through the Arcane University that he has gained information on the cult and how to find them," Jauffre said.

"I'll go," Gerich said, "I'd like to check up on my house to make sure the Gray Fox hasn't victimized it yet anyway."

"I'll go along as backup," said Ralas, "Should I report anything to the Archmage or Master-Wizard Polus while I'm there?"

Jauffre shook his head. "We should only warn them about the Mythic Dawn and the presence of an anti-Imperial cult in Cyrodiil. If word gets out about our location or the fact that we have the heir to the throne safe here, the Enemy's spies will report to their masters, mortal _or _Daedric."

"Then I'll go with them," Makar said, "Ralas and I also have other pressing business in the city." He held up a bag and grinned at Ralas. Ralas crowed with laughter.

"I would go with Gerich, but I think I'll be more useful if I go to the Dark Brotherhood. There's a possibility they may have leads on the cult there, such as rejected contracts for other political targets. Not to mention that they'll be waiting for me to return and report on my last…bit of business," Adanrael said, taking Gerich's hand in hers.

"I'll stay here and help guard Martin, er, his Majesty," Loryn stated awkwardly.

Jauffre nodded.

"Then the duties are assigned. Gerich, Makar, and Ralas will follow up on Baurus' lead and catch up to him in Imperial City. Adanrael will gather information underground, and Loryn will help guard Martin. I will set a watch and continue to monitor for enemy activities, as well as send postings out to the Blades around Tamriel to keep an eye out for cult activity. I will also inform the Nerevarine of Morrowind."

"Also remember that the Armory has equipment available to all of you if needed," Captain Steffan said.

The group separated to pack and prepare their gear. After restocking on armament and supplies, they set off for the south

**Ring Road, North of Imperial City**

Adanrael and Gerich embraced while Makar and Ralas waited nearby with the cart.

"I hate to leave your side," said Adanrael sadly, staring up into Gerich's eyes with her own, unshed tears shining. Gerich gently kissed her lips and stroked her cheek with a thumb, cupping her chin in his hand.

"I hate to leave you as well, especially knowing you are walking into a den of assassins," he murmured.

She laughed sadly.

"Love, I _am_ an assassin. I'll be careful, don't you worry. The family will take care of me at the Sanctuary. When I am done, I will come to the city. Wait for me at your home. If I don't meet you there in a week, come to the temple, for it will mean I had information I needed to take there. And if I'm not there…"

She paused, looking over at the cart. Ralas and Makar abruptly began whistling mismatched tunes and looked away quickly, trying to look innocent of eavesdropping.

Adanrael stood on her toes to whisper into Gerich's ear.

"Seek me in the abandoned house in Cheydinhal. But tell no one else!"

She then kissed his jaw, then his lips one last time before mounting her borrowed horse and wheeling and riding east.

Gerich watched her go, then returned to the cart and jumped on the back with Makar. Ralas was up front guiding the reins, wearing a ridiculous straw hat and a grin.

"Seriously, Ralas, where in the Nine Hells did you get that ridiculous horse-chow you're wearing as a head-dress?" Gerich asked, grinning at the foolish Dark Elf.

"Just because I'm trying the hardest to blend into the countryside," Ralas said, shaking his finger at Gerich and Makar with a mock-stern expression. Makar laughed, and they rode toward the city.

**End Chapter 5**

_Whew. What a brainstorm. Sorry it took so long to post, again… I'm formulating ideas for next chapter as we speak. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope your turkey tasted great, if you had any. Please feel free to leave comments. This was a long one, so I hope everyone's happy until I can get Chapter 6 up. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!_

_-SG_


	6. Chapter 6

**Seven Saviors**

_Hey everyone! I'm working to bring in the last two characters this chapter, and then the fun and fights will REALLY begin. I'll even give some glimpses into the activities of our old favorites. Anyway, on with the story!_

**Valmir Acatasi, High Elf**

**Garlas Malatar, Western Coast of Cyrodiil**

It had all led to this moment, to these final blows: The Pilgrimage of the Nine to the wayshrines of the Nine Divines, the first recovery of the Crusader's Helm from the sunken ruins of Vanua, the rediscovery and restoration of the Priory of the Nine and the recovery of the Cuirass of the Crusader from its haunted basement, the following expeditions to recover the ancient arms of the Divine Crusader Pelinal Whitestrake, and the re-establishment of the Knights of the Nine. After receiving the Blessing of Talos from the Prophet, the ancient man who had set him on this quest in the very beginning, he had gathered up his eight loyal followers come from all around Tamriel, and had assaulted this Ayleid coastal fortress, home to a very dangerous foe indeed.

The Knight shifted his stance and hefted his shield, holding the Sword of the Crusader in his right hand. The Mace of the Crusader was belted to his left hip. His foe at the top of a set of stairs slowly descended, drawing a sword the size of a regular claymore and swinging it easily with one hand.

_I can't do this, I can't do this, _thought Valmir, sweating under the helm nervously. He was already weary from fighting his way through the footsoldier daedra of his enemy, the Aurorans, brought into service from the realm of the goddess Meridia. Now he faced his ultimate foe, Umaril the Unfeathered, gold-clad Ayleid king, renowned dodger of death, and part-Daedra. It was all down to him, Valmir Acatasi, former High Elf merchant of the Gold Road circuit, to send Umaril back to the Waters of Oblivion, this time with a permanent visa and a travel restriction, Nine willing. Seeing the thickness of Umaril's armor, Valmir the Crusader changed tactics, drawing the mace and sheathing the sword. He remembered what Sir Roderick had begun to explain to him on the Pilgrimage about tactics of combat as they traveled together, him, Sir Roderick, and Squire Lathon, currently Sir Lathon.

"_Remember, my friend, that an enemy clad in heavy plate or thick chain is likely to cause trouble if you wield a blade. Then you have to take valuable time to seek out a weakness or seam in the armor, using energy to defend yourself. After all, why seek an opening when you can use a stout blunt weapon to create your own? A mace, warhammer, or axe will allow you to smash holes, cracks, and seams into heavy armor that you can then take advantage of with a blade. So have both weapons handy to enable a quick, decisive attack and victory."_

_Thank you, Sir Roderick_, Valmir thought, using the mace to smash a few gaps into the gilded Ayleid plate armor, while parrying the blows of the claymore of Umaril diagonally off of the Shield of the Crusader. The Ayleid King laughed, taunting him in an ancient language that was unknown to Valmir's ears. But the spirit of Pelinal filled Valmir, and he continued to strike, lashing out for each lost soul that had been killed in the conflict with Umaril. He struck hard for the desecrated chapels, the slaughtered priests, the dead Sir Roderick. As he fought Umaril, striking hard with sword, mace, and shield, tears flowed freely for all those who suffered due to this monster. The tears were also those of joy, as healing magic flowed from the Gauntlets of the Crusader, giving him divine strength to fight on and praising him for all of his sacrifices. His business was in shambles, his friends fought the Aurorans in the halls of Garlas Malatar, shouts of triumph and battle cries mingling with the cries and yelps of pain, as the ceaseless torrent of Aurorans came down upon them. And Valmir fought on, under the heavy press of a curse of weariness taken upon himself to help the young descendent of a cursed knight break free of his unceasing weariness. Kellen was now free to make his own destiny, and from what Valmir had heard, was making a marathon tour running around Cyrodiil.

And yet, despite all of his burdens, Valmir fought on. He caught Umaril's blade on the blade and crossguard of his own sword, parrying and 'taking' the steel, and whipping the sword up into the air. Umaril watched it fly up before turning and punching Valmir into the ground with the spiked gauntlet of his right fist, before deftly reaching up and catching his sword as it fell back down, reversing it to attempt a finishing ground stab into Valmir's prostrated form. But Valmir seized advantage and used Umaril's momentum against him, allowing Umaril to thrust his body down onto the Sword of the Crusader through a mace-created gap in the armor. Umaril grunted in pain before sliding down to lay on top of Valmir, death rattle echoing in his helmet. Valmir pushed the dead weight off of him with a great exertion, and stood, retrieving any dropped equipment. He then took a steadying breath, listening intently. Silence, apart from the crumbling of old stone and the drip of water in the pool near his feet, was all that greeted his ears, an eerie sensation after being subjected to the clanging and crashing of armed combat. He didn't know whether the silence was good or bad. Were his friends behind him successful in defeating the Aurorans? Or were the Aurorans finished slaughtering his friends and attempting to follow and defeat him? Either way, he still had business to take care of. He cast the Blessing of Talos and followed the spirit of Umaril the Unfeathered.

When he opened his eyes, not realizing he had shut them, he cried out and flailed his arms. He was suspended high above the Imperial City, directly above White-Gold Tower, in fact. He then realized that this was similar to how he spoke to the spirit of Pelinal Whitestrake after his pilgrimage. But Pelinal wasn't there to greet him this time. He was face to face with a rather shocked and incredibly aggravated Umaril. He cried out in a guttural voice in the Ayleid tongue, and although Valmir knew nothing of it, it sounded relatively like, "How in Oblivion have you pulled this trickery?!?"

Valmir drew the Mace of Zenithar again, feeling weariness tug at him. He cursed.

_Damn, I was hoping I would be stronger here!_ He thought in desperation. Just then, Pelinal Whitestrake's spirit appeared next to him. Umaril shouted in rage.

"By the Grace of the Eight-And-One, you have defeated his mortal incarnation and followed him to this plane! Now it is time to do what I myself could not. I shall add my strength to yours, and by the Blessed Nine, we shall have complete victory!" The spirit cried out, almost a mirror of Valmir clad in the Armor of the Divine Crusader. All of a sudden, Pelinal floated forward and into Valmir, and the Armor and weapon were suddenly shimmering with the added presence of the first Divine Crusader. Valmir felt the strength of two men pouring into his weary body, and he stood straighter, raising the shield and mace in a final salute in Umaril's direction.

"I salute you as a worthy adversary in armed combat, Umaril-King," said Valmir/Pelinal in a merged voice, Valmir's High Elf voice merging with the Imperial tones of Pelinal's voice, "But your time for trickery and cunning has passed. WE BANISH YOU!"

And with that, Valmir, the Divine Crusader Reborn, charged into final combat. Umaril snarled, mainly in fear, but made to swing down in an overhead strike. As Valmir moved to block, the Ayleid swung a foot out and kicked him in the knee, bending his leg in the complete wrong direction. Valmir collapsed screaming to the…'ground' cloud layer, clutching the leg. The spirit of Pelinal emerged from his body, reaching out and shoving the leg back together properly, using the spirit-echo of the Gauntlets of the Crusader to heal the knee before rejoining him in his body. They stood again, Umaril muttering, having stood back to let the Crusader heal himself, and swung his claymore back in a ready stance. They clashed in combat, as Valmir shield-bashed Umaril in the chin, smashing the mace against the collar of Umaril's golden cuirass. The armor shattered under the strength provided by Pelinal, and Valmir hung the mace from his belt and drew his sword. Blade clashed against blade as Umaril went on a furious, desperate attack, landing blows against Valmir's armor that failed to penetrate. Valmir, in a final stunning move, parried Umaril's last attack up above his head hard, then spun around clockwise, gripping the Sword of the Crusader with both hands and impaling Umaril in the weak spot created by the Mace. Umaril's claymore hit the clouds and dissipated as Umaril dropped it and threw his arms wide, sinking to his knees with a loud shout of pain. Pelinal's spirit left Valmir's body, and Valmir felt the weakness strike again, watching as Pelinal placed his right hand on Umaril's forehead.

"By the Eight and One, I banish you from these lands! May your shadow never again spread its darkness on the lands of Tamriel," Pelinal declared. Umaril disintegrated with a roar of fury, and Valmir felt himself falling, falling. The top of White-Gold Tower came closer and closer, and the voice of Pelinal filled his head as he fell.

"Well done, Sir Knight. You are indeed in possession of a worthy heart! Go forth and do your duty as a defender of the Nine Divines, and defend our people with courage in your heart and strength in your limbs!"

Valmir awoke in the Undercroft of the Priory, and celebrated the victory with all of his friends and fellows-in-arms. The spirits of the Old Knights of the Nine were now free to ascend to Aetherius to rejoin Pelinal and be honored for their service.

**Two Weeks Later**

**Valmir Acatasi and Ra'jirra Sharasi (Khajit)**

**Outside Fort Alessia, Ring Road Southeast of Imperial City**

Valmir, Sir Thedret, Sir Avita, and Sir Brellin all stood outside of the fort, waiting to spring the trap they had deployed.

"My Lord Crusader," Avita said, tugging her glass bow's string back, "Are we sure your, er, contact isn't informing them about our doings?"

Valmir smirked.

"Oh yes, Sir Avita, those Marauders don't know what is about to hit them."

As if on cue, an explosion sounded inside the fort, followed by various cries and shouts.

"Get the s'wit!" A male dark elf shouted.

"HURGH!" cried an orc, presumably getting hurt or killed.

As other various shouts and noise filled the inside of the fort, one noise drowned them out as it got closer: the mischievous cackle of a female Khajit.

The aforementioned Khajit, clad in a burgundy riding skirt, a gray patterned 'Highwayman's' shirt, and a gray hood and scarf came dashing out the door. She had an elegantly curved Elven shortsword strapped to her waist, and an Elven bow strapped to her back with a quiver of silver arrows. Avita and Brellin were already on the second floor of the fort, bows at the ready to take down the warlord's escorts. Ra'jirra leaped up into the air, stretching out a paw, and Brellin quickly knelt and caught it, pulling her up next to him. Valmir and Thedret dropped in front of the opening leading into the ruined fort.

"This one thinks you would make a good Khajit, Treehugger Brellin," Ra'jirra said with a good-natured grin as she strung her bow and took up her spot. Brellin smirked in response, but the arrival of several angry marauders ended the discussion. Thedret and Valmir began making short work of the marauders that dared to attack them or make a break for the opening, as the three archers on the second floor began unleashing arrows into the masses coming from the fort like a swarm of angry hornets. When the mass of marauders seemed to grow to be more than the group could handle, Avita paused for a moment and tossed a green spell up into the sky. Two minutes later, a Watch Captain from the Imperial city and a dozen Imperial Legion Soldiers joined the fight, evening it out significantly. They fought until the warlord and his closest advisors saw fit to surrender. As they walked up to the surrendering group, the warlord still had a smug sneer etched on his face. As they approached, the air crackled, and the marauder battlemage near the warlord openly grinned, a Breton with a bad temperament. An Elven shortsword came whistling through the air and impaled the Breton through the chest. His smirk died the instant before he did, collapsing to his knees with a groan before slumping forward, bloody blade protruding from his back. The warlord looked torn between fury and hopelessness. Ra'jirra stepped forward with her goofy grin on her face and moved her hands through the air. The battlemage's corpse lifted enough for the sword to slide out, and it floated in the air before wiping itself clean on his robes. The sword then moved around the group, slicing their weapons free from their belts and flicking menacingly toward the necks of the remaining marauders, who flinched each time.

"Good work, Lord Crusader. You and your followers have done the Legion a great service today," the watch captain said, walking up to Valmir and patting him on the shoulder.

Valmir reached up and removed his helmet, shaking the captain's hand.

"It was no trouble, Itius, just my service to the Nine to protect the people," Valmir said. He and Itius Hayn of the Imperial Watch had become friends as Valmir had travelled the West Weald in his days as a merchant, often writing to the Imperial Watch about where he encountered the most bandits, or the most evidence of their attacks. Itius Hayn would often reply with a thank you, and Legion patrols would weed out the trouble if they could.

"I always appreciate when you request our help, it gives me a chance to get away from the City and do some actual fieldwork. You gave some of our newer recruits some combat experience as well," Itius replied, waving a hand to indicate the Legionnaires. Some of them stood to attention at his glance, and he waved them down with a smirk and a gesture.

"Go on, men," he said, "Let the Crusaders and their 'Ranger' have their finders' fee, and take the rest."

The Legionnaires immediately followed the Knights into the fort, looking eager.

"Anything we collect goes into funds to aid the churches attacked by Umaril, and supports the upkeep of the Priory of the Nine. Your Legionnaires are going to receive more than they think for a share. And of course, with further cooperative efforts in the future, we will garner more profits for both our organizations," Valmir said. Having at least _some_ Legion backing could be useful in the future.

"No arguments there, my friend, but I _do_ wish you had let me provide you with some support troops when you attacked that bastard Ayleid in his den. You were quite outnumbered. Many feared for all of your lives," Itius said gravely.

"I would, under normal circumstances, have sent for you immediately, but the symbolic victory was utterly necessary. Now with what the permanently entrapped Umaril will tell the Daedra of Oblivion, the Knights of the Nine can be taken seriously as a force. We are all planning to take squires soon, as well, effectively doubling our numbers and insuring that nothing short of a full-blown disaster can eradicate us."

The conversation was interrupted as a Legion patrolman galloped up to them. He paused to greet Valmir respectfully with a 'Lord Crusader…' before launching into his report to Hayn.

"Captain Hayn, sir, Chancellor Ocato is requesting your presence along with the other captains. Oblivion Gates similar to the one at Kvatch are opening across Cyrodiil, and even in other provinces! Al d'ruhn has been obliterated by the Daedra hordes in Vvardenfell, and King Helseth himself has come to speak to the Chancellor."

Hayn paused, agape at the dawning reality of the situation.

"By Tiber Septim's holy beard, I'll reconvene my troops and return immediately! Lord Crusader, will you be joining us?" Itius asked Valmir. The fact that he called him Lord Crusader made it a formal request.

"But sir, Chancellor Ocato said to only notify the Legion captains!" the patrolman stammered.

"Lord Crusader Valmir has shown the Empire that he is _more_ than capable of leading a military force and making Daedra bathe in their own blood. He has earned the right to join us," Hayn chastised the patrolman. He turned to Valmir.

"Gather your troops, Sir Knight, and make quick arrangements. We depart in fifteen minutes."

Valmir nodded. His knights and friends stopped their gathering of coin and valuable goods and returned, gathering around him.

"My friends, I need you to return to the Priory at once. Put it on high alert. I want a two-man watch in the priory tower at all hours and a perimeter patrol executed intermittently. Maintain no patterns in the patrol, we must be unpredictable. Ra'jirra, you and I are going to go see the Chancellor, and you and Avita will be my method of communication between the City and the Priory. Be on the lookout for Oblivion Gates, and if one appears within a mile of the Priory, notify me at once, but make no attempt to close it. The Knights of the Nine are one unit, and we will fight and defend our home as such. Any questions? Good, then you know what must be done. I will return and notify you promptly."

**Two Hours Later**

**Imperial City, Imperial Palace District, Green Emperor Way**

Valmir and Ra'jirra stood in the shadows of the Council Chamber, which reached around a circle in the middle of the tower and stretched high up to a second story, where a balcony circled around the tower before it continued up. The opening, if leapt from, would drop anyone foolish enough to try such a stunt directly in the middle of the table. The table was currently looking very empty, since only a few seats were occupied. The Mane of Elsweyr sat at a section of the table, flanked by two dangerous-looking Khajit armed with glass longswords. The bodyguards grinned sheepishly at Ra'jirra when she winked at them, breaking their steely gaze for a moment. The Mane smirked at Ra'jirra and his amused bodyguards before resuming his pensive thought.

_Khajit_, Valmir thought, _are some of the oddest fellows I will ever know._

Other powerful leaders of various guilds and provinces sat around the table: a Redguard from the Hammerfell province representing the government there, a man Valmir knew by sight to be the youngest son of the woman heading the Fighters' Guild of Cyrodiil, accompanied by the representatives of heads for other various Fighters' Guilds from the varying provinces, Archmage Hannibal Traven of the Arcane University, King Helseth of Morrowind himself, accompanied by a half-dozen of his guards, his guard captain Tienius Delitan, and his personal bodyguard Karrod, a Redguard. The Cyrodiil city counts and countesses were notably absent from these proceedings, and word had been received that they were seeing to their cities to prevent 'another Kvatch' in their own cities. The only representative of the cities present at this time was the representative of Skingrad, because Janus Hassildor was not known to make many public appearances, and therefore left a representative in the Imperial City year-round.

Chancellor Ocato turned in his chair to look at King Helseth, who stood to address him.

"Chancellor Ocato, with all due respect, any legions you have to spare are needed urgently in Morrowind, especially Vvardenfell. My own Royal Guard can handle the situations in mainland Morrowind, but the Great Houses of Vvardenfell are far too concerned with their own affairs to handle any sort of defense. Houses Dres and Hlaalu are too occupied with picking at the spoils of House Indoril, House Redoran is in ruins after their trade capital at Al d'ruhn was destroyed, not to mention their disastrous attempt to wage war with the Nords over control of Solstheim, and only House Telvanni has shown the interest and commitment to defending the isle from the Daedric invasion. The Telvanni have agreed to a partnership, as Councilor Aryon has told me, with the Imperial Legion in order to counter the threat."

The Redguard from Hammerfell stood up, gripping the scimitar at his waist with his left hand.

"Honored Chancellor, the situation in Hammerfell is not as grim, but the combined might of the Bretons and the Yokudans is NOT enough to force the daedric invasion from our provinces. We need assistance. Let the Dunmer fend for themselves. The managed it for a very long time just fine!"

The Mane hissed.

"Look at you two!" he growled, shaking the massive braids of his mane in irritation, "Fighting like two Alfiq over a bowl of milk! Chancellor Ocato can only do so much for us. If only you weren't so weak and obsessed with your 'political maneuvers', you could focus on the task at hand. We Khajiit have no trouble beating back the Daedra hordes. They burn our forests, torch our homes, yet pay for it with a massive blood price. We only need to find how to close these damning hellgates, and we can rid our land of the evils!"

Ocato sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers, as if attempting in vain to relieve a persistent headache.

"Gentlemen," Ocato said in a calm voice, "In times like these, Emperor Uriel would ask us to exercise unity, not make thinly-veiled insults and threats at each other across a table. Cooperation is necessary. However, we must address other issues. King Helseth, what is needed to unite the Great Houses? Is this not the purpose of the Nerevarine?"

Helseth, remaining seated, nodded.

"In normal times, we would unite the Great Houses in arms under the command of the Nerevarine, however, the Nerevarine has chosen to seek another destiny across the seas in Akavir, and any messengers I send are either repulsed by the ferocious waters or fail to return at all. To make matters worse, religious strife is creating chaos. Since the Nerevarine began his journeys, we have confirmed Sotha Sil to be dead, Almalexia to be… indisposed, and Vivec to have disappeared. The High Priest of Vivec came into a healing house with many wounds, stammering about gateways of fire opening in front of the stairs to Vivec's palace, and violent storms at the peak. Ordinators immediately stormed the palace and killed any lingering Daedra, but Vivec was nowhere to be found."

"So the mighty Tribunal have met their fates, it seems," Ocato said, "But what other strife is there?"

"The Ashlander tribes have all finally come together to form One-Clan-Under-Moon-And-Star, putting aside their differences in order to stand a chance of survival. They are firm believers in the ancient worship of Azura, one of the Daedric Princes. They fight for survival against rogue Ordinators that are unaccounted for, roaming the continent in service to their dead gods. The Imperial Cult worship continues to abound without fail, thankfully, but the Great Houses have seemingly given up any sort of following in their attempts to make land grabs on the Indoril territory. The Ashlanders war with the Great Houses, proclaiming them as traitors to Saint Nerevar, the Hortator. My guard can only do so much, and Hlaalu is being very restrained in how much support he gives me," Helseth said, anger showing in his guttural voice.

"Thank you, King Helseth," Ocato said, moving on to the next ruler. When everyone had said their peace, Ocato reported on the situation in Cyrodiil, which seemed to be the main target in the Daedric siege. He also reported on the defeat of Umaril, which earned Valmir some appraising looks from the Mane and the Redguard, and a nod from Helseth. The Legion captains were addressed next.

"Captains, you all will maintain your presence and purpose here in the City. You must focus on improving the city's defenses. Captain Hayn, I want you to begin dispatching allotments of Legionnaires to the other provinces. We must hold onto our Empire and not back down from this Daedra threat. You all know what you must do. Honored guests, feel free to take to the guest chambers and rest in the hospitality of the Imperial Palace.

Ra'jirra tapped Valmir's arm urgently and pointed out the western window. There in the sky, floated a ball of pale green light, indicating that danger was encroaching on the Priory of the Nine.

"With respect, Honored Leaders, I must depart. My home is in danger," Valmir said, standing up and donning his helmet. Ra-jirra sprinted from the room. As he turned to wave to Itius, he saw him run over and grab his claymore and helmet.

"Itius, my friend, I appreciate your eagerness, but you have orders to fulfill. We Knights can take care of ourselves for a while. You have an Empire to defend."

And with that, he bowed to the gathered Council and sprinted out to meet Ra-jirra.

_Hello fellows. Sorry for the rather dry chapter, but dabbling in politics of Tamriel is difficult. I apologize if I got something wrong. I also know that Helseth might seem out of character, since he is characteristically tight-lipped about things in the 'Tribunal' expansion pack. Next chapter, we will return to some old characters, and have Valmir and Ra'jirra officially enter into the group._


End file.
